We're Going Out
by Wholocked221
Summary: After a late night and very early morning full of work, John decides they're going out. They climb into a cab with the instructions given to the cabbie - "Take us somewhere."


**Author's Note: This is just a short fic written in inspiration of an 'Imagine Your OTP'. I hope you enjoy it. :)**

"We're going out," John announced one afternoon. The pair - Doctor John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective - had been up all night searching through books for a case they'd been given by Lestrade. They'd solved the case early this morning, and John had fallen asleep on the sofa while crap telly played through the darkened room.

Sherlock hadn't.

He'd stayed awake for another two hours, watching the police programs. If he was bored - which he often was - he'd turn it to one of the shows and try and figure out the crime or mystery before the police did. He always one. John did too, sometimes. When they played together, Sherlock tried to hold in the answer so John could figure it out himself. Sometimes he succeeded in not blurting out the answer. Sometimes he didn't.

He took a break after the fifth episode of the television show, and diverted his eyes toward his flatmate, crashed on the couch. He was wearing his jeans and a green jumper. Sherlock's light, perceptive eyes roved over the sleeping man's face. Silently, he got up. At some point around the third episode, he'd wrapped a blanket around himself. He gripped the side of it in his left hand, pulling it off his shoulders. He took a few steps to the couch where John was asleep and dropped the blanket on top of his friend. Equally silent, the lean man with the flop of black curls tucked the blanket around John without waking him up. He stood in front of the couch for a moment before turning and stepping across the room to his chair. He folded himself into the chair and at exactly 4:32 and dropped his head onto the armrest and fell asleep. The telly flickered on in the dark.

The next morning - at 9:41 by John's digital watch, the numbers blinking black against the face - the army doctor was woken up by violin music. He'd hoped to have slept untill noon, but apparently it wasn't ment to be. Without opening his eyes, he listened. He knew almost instantly which composer it was. It was Sherlock's favorite, Bach. But he was still too asleep to know which work of his it was. Still on his position on the couch wearing exactly what he had been early this morning, he just processed the fact that there was an unfamiliar weight over his body. He was warmer then he'd been before he slept. It was a blanket. He hadn't had one when he fell asleep.

He finally pried his eyes open that morning. The telly was still flickering on in front or him. The music from the violin was playing from behind him. He worked his right arm out from under the blanket and grabbed the edge, throwing the blanket over on the back of the sofa. He stopped up, and blinked a few times, clearing his fuzzy eyes. He slowly turned around and saw his flatmate sitting on the counter with his legs folded beneath himz his eyes closed, the bow flowing across the strings. His long, slender fingers were doing what they did on the neck on the instrument.

John watched Sherlock playing for a moment, untill the music suddenly stopped. His fingers were still pressed against their strings and the bow poised to play. His eyes were still closed.

"John."

John let the silence linger for exactly 12 seconds before her spoke.

"We're going out," John announced.

Sherlock's eyes flickered open. His dropped his hands, setting the violin and the bow beside him. His fingers unwrapped and he stood. "Where?"

"I don't know. Somewhere that's not 221b," John decided. "Now -" He scanned Sherlock and realized he was still fully clothed, except for his shoes. "Put your shoes on. And we'll go."

Sherlock obeyed, but not without protest. He complained that he'd just received some ears that he wanted to experiment on, and some delightful black mold was simply _begging _to be tested on as he pulled on his black shoes. John half-heartedly listened as he pulled on his own.

John led the way out of their apartment. Sherlock followed him. John hailed the taxi and lucky them, they'd managed to get probably the only cab that Sherlock hadn't been in before, so the cabbie was slightly pleasant to the pair. "Where'll I be taking the couple today?" the cabbie asked. John missed the 'couple' of the remotely friendly cabbie's statement and responded with a simple, "Anywhere."

Sherlock caught it though. But for some reason, he wasn't feeling chatty, so he said nothing. After a moment when they were situated in their leather seats, John recalled what the man had said. "Oh - no, we're - we're not a couple." The cabbie smiled and started driving.

Sherlock smiled too.

10 minutes and 41 seconds later, the London cab pulled towards a lot. It was a fair. An amusement park of sorts. "Here you go," the cabbie said with a smile. "Somewhere." John inclined his head and payed for the cab while Sherlock scrambled out. John followed him out.

"Well, let's amuse ourselves then," John said, gesturing to the park. "Parks are such trivial human things." "Well we're here. So let's _amuse _ourselves." He grabbed Sherlock's wrist and pulled him towards the park.

"Here, Sherlock," John said, stopping in front of a game booth. They had been at the park a while - exactly 2 hours and 24 minutes if you asked Sherlock - before John had located the ring toss game. John handed the man some money, and inclined his head slightly to his partner. "Go on, Sherlock. Win me something."

The corners of Sherlock's lips tilted upward and he accepted the small greem rings. He studied the bottles for a moment before throwing one of the rings. With precise accuracy, the green ring flew through the air and landed on a bottle. Two more quick throws and the other two were hooked around the bottle necks.

John grinned too. "There, Sherlock. Was that so hard to play a game? Like a normal person?" "No it wasn't," Sherlock admitted. "What do you want?" the gruff Scottish accent came. Sherlock's light eyes tilted up and scanned the racks. Sherlock glanced at John before a mischievous smirk played on his face.

"The big pink _bear._" John laughed. Sherlock thought he was funny apparently, because he was smiling. The man at the booth handed the large, bright pink teddy bear to Sherlock. "Hope your boyfriend likes his prize," the Scottish man said. "We're not - he's not - we're not dating," John protested, but a grinning Sherlock pulled John away from the booth. He was uncharacteristically smiling to much today. John stood in front of Sherlock then, and held his hands out. "Well give me my bear then." Sherlock's grin was still on his face. "No. I'm holding it for you."

Sherlock sat down at the table with a papper plate of something. John's pink bear was on the table between the two men, the plate in front of it. "What's that, then?" John asked, his right eyebrow raised slightly. "It's an American treat, it's called a funnel cake," Sherlock responded. He tore of a piece and popped it in his mouth. "Don't eat it all, I need some of it for an expiriment." John snorted. "You and your expiriments!"

John experimentally tasted the American treat. It was fried something covered in powdered sugar. It pretty good.

After a short span of time, the two 'consulting detectives' finished their treat. John had stolen the last bite, consequently forbidding Sherlock from that expiriment he was planning on doing. "Hey!" Sherlock protested. John smirked. Powder dusted his nose, lips, and chin. Sherlock picked up the papper plate toward John. The remaining sugar powdered all over his face.

"Sherlock!" John cried. Sherlock was smirking too. "Hey!" Sherlock grabbed the pink bear and wrapped his arms around his neck. "Stop choking my Sherlock-bear!" John protested. Sherlock laughed again and held the bear out as a peace offering to his friend. John stepped toward his friend, taking the bear from him. He drew his right, bear-less hand across his sugary face, and streached out wiping it across Sherlock's cheek.

The detective pouted like a child.

"Ha," John said, equally child-like.

John turned, ready to dispose of their trash. But that was a bad move on his part. Sherlock attacked him, wrapping his arms around John's neck and shoulders, choking him. "Sherlock!" he protested once more, prying at his best mate's arms. "Get off!" Sherlock suddenly released John and spun him so he was facing him. John's Sherlock-bear was on the ground now.

Sherlock's hands were on his shoulders as his eyes scanned John's laughing face. His blue eyes twinkled merrily. "Ha!"

The ring toss booth was behind the pair. The detail registered in Sherlock's brain, a small one in the vivid world.

John stopped laughing, but his face still showed his mirth. Impulsively - because he was _Sherlock Holmes - _the great man leaned forward and pressed his lipe against John's. The pair kissed in the middle of the fair, a powdery plate, a few napkins and a large bright pink Sherlock-bear at their feet.


End file.
